“And so, like most temptations I knew I should steer away from, he drew me in even closer. He took me for rides in his junkyard car, driving to midnight lookouts high above the city of Zihuatanejo, and brought me to bars to meet his friends and echar unas chelas. He told me just enough secrets to make me feel like he really cared. Most of the time we spent in bed, grasping each other’s skin, desperately embracing and not wanting to let go of what, inevitably, we would have to leave behind. We made love continuously, as if this act would validate who we were to each other. But we both knew that what we had was fleeting.
On the last day, he begged me to stay. It was a plea so open, so honest, and so pitiful that I wanted to stay with him, even if it was partially because I felt sorry for him. He made promises of making me so happy that I would never again yearn to see the rest of the world, because it was the world that he would give me through his love and affection. I swore I even saw tears building in those big black eyes of his, and I did want to stay. But as wrapped up as I was in this whole lust-love thing, I knew that this would never be enough.
And so I found myself, once again dragging that purple suitcase behind me. I headed through the glass doors and into the airport with dozens of mosquito bites covering my legs and a rawness between them that I had never before known. I loved this man, but I was walking away, out of his life and back into what had become of mine. I was leaving him for a promise of something much bigger than I would ever experience with him and his trite concept of love. ”
-by Cristina Luisa